Linger
by xcoloursandpromises
Summary: "She's thinks she's beginning to understand." Hisana, and fifty years later. Byakuya/Hisana. Reincarnation fic.


**A/N:** My second ByaHisa, and it's another reincarnation!fic. Granted, even if it's more of a revamped, slightly darker version, the gist is the same. Hisana is reincarnated, and Byakuya's a snoop. I'm compensating for things I know Kubo will never give to the fandom.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Bleach!

* * *

_stars fading, but I linger on, dear_

_still craving your kiss, I'm longing to linger till dawn, dear_

_just saying this: sweet dreams till sunbeams find you._

_sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you._

_but in your dreams whatever they be, dream a little dream of me - dream a little dream_, michael buble

* * *

**_Linger_**

Pain blinds her, rips through her body and settles at the center of her soul, melting and throbbing and seeping out on to the grass below. The sky is a gray that spirals into eternity and didn't the weatherman mention snow this morning?

She gasps, something warm and sticky and wet pulsing out of her, out of her mouth out of her chest and stomach and nose and _god_ it hurts so much. She arches her back against the dying grass and it strikes her, then, that that might not be the only thing dying, here.

Where it was once hot agony is turning into numbing cold, spreading through her body, fingers and toes curling against the frost.

_what was that beast, anyway –_

_the one in the mask?_

Something warm takes her hand.

"Hisana," a voice breathes, regret shaking the air. It feels familiar but she's not sure from where.

_there's a tree outside and she saw it, she saw it bloom for the first time that year_

She moans and tries to move, but something lifts her up and away from the damp grass. It smells familiar and comforting, like vanilla and cherry blossoms and it occurs to her that if this is dying, she doesn't quite mind.

* * *

_there's darkness – darkness and silence and nothing, nothing at all, and she's died before, hasn't she? once upon a time._

_she had been younger-older back then, and so weak, only instead of blood and grass it had been the slow ache of sickness, the smell of plum trees and decaying flowers and_

_someone had held her hand, hadn't they?_

* * *

She wakes up in the hospital and they call her lucky, the girl who survived getting hit by a car.

She looks over the x-rays and wonders if that was what really happened. She doesn't think claw marks are usually the result of hit and runs.

Still, no one questions it and whenever she asks, they can't give her a straight answer.

Eventually, she just stops asking.

* * *

The memories pass like dust through her fingertips, after.

As soon as she thinks she has a firm hold on them, they slide right past her and into oblivion.

_it was almost snowing that day but it smelled like spring, like cherry blossoms and a memory far too far away now_

She returns to her life, keeps working at the bar, keeps making enough to survive, keeps ignoring the leering boys and wandering hands.

_there's a boy in her dreams that reminds her of spring_

She tucks that day into the back of her mind, the images fading to black as the months pass.

* * *

Life goes on.

Slowly, but it goes on, days and weeks trickling past like rain on a windowpane. Her friends press her to date, and they always end the same – with a smile and a wave, and a promise to call that she never keeps. They don't keep it either, though, and that's okay, too.

It's a good life, she thinks. Decent work, decent pay, kind of lonely, but she's content.

It's a good life.

Or, well.

Not a bad one, anyway.

* * *

_there's a boy in her dreams who reminds her of spring and she wants to tell him to go away, that winter is bad for boys like him_

_but she's selfish and wanting and his warmth sends her spiraling straight into something so beautiful and breathtaking_

_she doesn't have a word for it_

* * *

She has more near-death experiences than she can count, from the hit-and-run-but-was-it-really, to felled telephone poles, to mysterious collapsing buildings.

Once, something Very Very Strange happens in early December and she wakes up at the park on the ground with the AM joggers and mothers with their small children. They forget, eventually, but she doesn't.

Karakura was supposed to be a relaxing, quiet little town. At least, that's what it said in the brochure.

Hisana lounges at a table at the bar and considers moving.

* * *

Something keeps her, in the end. Maybe it's her job, maybe it's the way she's finally making her own way in life, or maybe it's the odd black cat that's taken to loitering outside her apartment.

Maybe it's that quirky blonde man who owns the convenience store down the road, or maybe it's the fact that once, she swears up and down she saw a girl who looked just like her. Maybe a little younger, a little more polished, with a shorter hairstyle, but the eyes.

Hisana can't forget her eyes. Or the look of surprised shock that had run across her face. Across both of their faces, especially after Hisana noticed the sword.

The town is definitely something else, she decides. From the moaning, groaning, echoing screaming she hears in the dead of night to the strangers in black whizzing around over her head, to the rushes of déjà vu she gets when no one else is around.

It's definitely something strange.

* * *

_they say she died, that day in the field_

She can't reemmber much, but she remembers this: there wasn't any of the things her mother used to say there were. There was no light, no singing angels or pearly gates or God, no Heaven or Hell, nothing like that.

_her heart had stopped for a moment, just a moment, legally dead for two whole minutes after the paramedics had arrived_

She remembers silky spider-web apologies, the stars winking behind clouds, and cherry blossoms and vanilla. Warmth.

_she'd died once before that, she thinks –_

_died to be born again._

* * *

The bar is loud tonight, patrons as rowdy as ever. She's working late again, her boss having knocked off early to go back to his wife or his mistress, she doesn't know which and doesn't quite care; all she knows is she's one of the three employees left behind to keep the understaffed pub from being burned to the ground.

She curses her employer for the umpteenth time that night, sidestepping one girl who seems to have had one too many. The music makes the floor under her feet vibrate, the catchy tempo burying itself in the deepest recesses of her brain. Yeah, she'll remember this stupid song later.

She passes a door, a shadow, balancing a tray of drinks in her hand. The silvery shine of gray eyes stops her, and her breath catches in her throat, head tilting slightly to the side.

He catches her eye, drenched in shadow, his dark hair blending into the woodwork. His eyes shine with silvery moonlight, pale skin fairly glowing in the dim lighting. He is equal parts dreams and memories, and he's _different_.

_she wants to say something, anything –_

His hair falls loose now, and is slightly shorter; his shoulders are broader. His eyes are heavier, but she recognizes them, something inside her tugging and yearning.

_something like, oh, hello, I've been looking for you_

She hasn't seen him in so long. Aching glimpses in dreams and memories and past lives; sometimes, she thinks she's seen him jumping over rooftops.

_she's never believed in anything as silly as soul mates or reincarnation but she looks at him and she feels like she's known him all her life –_

_(maybe longer)_

She thinks she's beginning to understand.

* * *

"Hello," she says, with a smile that took his breath away.

She doesn't know him, not really. But she had. Once, probably.

She might do, again.

* * *

**A/N**: Just to clarify: at the end, she does realize she knows him. It doesn't necessarily mean she knows who he is exactly, or who he was to her, or what their relationship was, but she acknowledges that she knew him, and that the potential is there for her to know him again.

This left me a bit empty, mostly because when I started this, I wanted to give them a happy ending. But a happy ending would involve her dying, or him leaving SS to be with her. The former option was tempting, but overplayed; I'd already done it, and it didn't really fit the tone of the story. The latter option was just plain unrealistic. As much as he loved (loves!) Hisana, I can't see him doing something as drastic as leaving Soul Society forever.

Anyway, my rambling aside, I'd love to hear what you guys think. I appreciate any and all feedback. It really helps out my muse like you wouldn't believe. Feedback means everything.

Any questions about the fic? Again, hit me up. I don't bite, I swear.

Thanks again for reading!


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